


Initiative

by Emilem



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cable Street Particulars, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilem/pseuds/Emilem
Summary: We all know that, somewhere in the multiverse, all possible realities exist.  So it stands to reason that in one of those realities, some of the people populating the Discworld might look a little familiar...Tumblr user Phantomdivine gave me a very generous gift the other day, and I wanted to return the favour.  Enjoy, Becci!If anyone likes this, let me know - I'd be more than happy to create further chapters on commission, or even just if enough people ask me nicely.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Initiative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phantomdivine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Phantomdivine).



Having just smoked his cigarette down to the very last centimetre, Sam Vimes stubbed it out and immediately lit another one. 

He felt a slight pang of guilt at doing so; for the sake of Sybil and Young Sam, he hadn’t chain-smoked in years[*](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657084#footnote). But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was about to get very, very annoyed, and he thought it was best to get the temptation out of the way early. After all, he wouldn’t be able to light any open flames once he was inside the Guild of Artificers, because the guild stockpiled so much combustible material as fuel that they even put the Alchemists’ Guild to shame.

Vimes really hated the whole vigilante business. For years, the only time the City Watch really needed to worry about vigilantes in Ankh-Morpork was when their bodies had to be scraped off the streets. All of a sudden, though, a bunch of costumed crime-fighters were popping up who were actually smart, strong, or lucky enough to survive, and if that wasn’t bad enough, they came alongside a bunch of new souped-up supervillains as well. 

For Vimes, this meant having to field inquiries about collateral damage from the general public, administer brand new laws and rules of engagement, and engage in countless tedious debates about the relative morality of people being allowed to punch bad people wearing colourful masks without any kind of system of checks and balances. Vimes had always thought the one good thing about the concept of vigilantes was that the lawbreakers got caught without ever invoking the need for paperwork; it was quite a let-down to find that this advantage didn’t actually extend to the coppers around them. 

The door of the guild clunked open with the use of what Vimes considered to be a needlessly elaborate gear system, and the golem standing in the doorway intoned “Can I Help You, Sir?”

Vimes gave a wistful look at his remaining half-cigarette before sighing and putting it out. “I don’t know, let’s both find out together. I’m here to see the head tinkerer. Can you show me to him?”

The Golem turned and gestured for Vimes to follow him. “Right This Way, Sir. I’m Sure There’s Nothing He Would Like More Than To Be Interrupted From His Work By The Watch.”  
A little taken aback, Vimes followed the figure inside. He wasn’t sure he’d met such an openly cynical golem before. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised – if anyone was likely to rewrite a creature’s brain just to make them make fun of people, it was the man he was about to see.

Vimes had met the Head of the Artificer’s Guild a dozen or so times now, and every time, he found another fascinating aspect of that larger-than-life personality to be irritated by. There was his sarcastic sense of humour; his near-limitless amounts of wealth; his insistence on ignoring that wealth to continue working at a job which only served to inconvenience anyone who came into contact with. Vimes could hardly stand to be in the same room as the man ever since Sybil had casually mentioned one evening how much the two men had in common.

There was no escaping his company today, however. Not when, at around nine o’clock in the evening the previous night, the guild’s treasurer had gone mad and walked out of the guild in a giant suit of armour, attacking civilians with blasts of explosive energy. And certainly not when that same treasurer had ended up being apprehended less than an hour later, unconscious, with his armour covered in a combination of ice and concussive blast marks that were clearly the result of a device made by a master artificer.  
The golem was leading Vimes towards a very loud banging noise, which turned out to be a man wearing a protective mask hitting a wide sheet of metal with the hammer, causing sparks to fly everywhere. When Vimes and his guide were spotted, the hammerer looked up and took off the mask, revealing an achingly handsome man who wore a bemused frown framed by tidy facial hair.

“The Commander Of The Watch Is Here To See You, Sir,” said the golem.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” said the man, prompting the clay figure to turn around and leave the room. “What can I do for you, Mr Vimes? Wait, sorry, I mean commander. Duke. Your grace. Sir? It’s funny, I can never tell which one it is…”

“Mr Stark,” responded Vimes, ignoring the transparent attempt to wind him up. “I’m hoping you can help the watch with our inquiries. What can you tell me about the vigilante who the Times has been calling Octiron Man?”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” replied Stark, without missing a beat. “You’d never get octiron to fly like that without magic, it’s clearly a copper-titanium alloy. Of course, it’d work better with gold instead of the copper, but it’s impossible to find any real amount of gold in this city… Other than that, I know nothing about him. Why do you ask?”

The really impressive thing about Tony Stark, Vimes thought, was that even though he spoke at twice the speed of anyone else he knew, he still managed to avoid saying anything remotely useful. He decided to speed the conversation along. “Look, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Everyone knows it’s you. If I gave one of my officers five minutes in this building, we could find definitive proof that it’s you. Bloody Vetinari has told me not to arrest you, and he usually knows what he’s doing, but I’ll be damned if I let someone with that much power go around without any kind of oversight.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you _are_ here to arrest me, Commander? Because I’ll need to fetch my overnight bag.”

 _I should be so lucky_ , thought Vimes. “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he said. “Take a walk with me down to Cable Street. I’d like to talk to you about the Particulars Initiative.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Or rather, he no longer smoked enough that _he_ considered it to be chain smoking. He might have felt differently if he didn’t have a predisposition towards addiction and a badge that said “Commander of the City Watch”.[[return to text](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657084#return1)]


End file.
